Too Late for Life
by Sarah Songbird
Summary: "Too-ra-loo-la-loo-ral..." Anastasia Stevenson sang quietly under her breath. Her parents had no clue where she had picked up that little melody. It was an Irish lullaby, but that was all she knew about it.
1. In the Beginning

_** A/N: Okay. Allow me to explain myself. I'm a part of a Sherlock roleplay. I play as Sherlock. One of our most recent storylines involves Irene Adler being impregnated by Sebastian Moran, who we haven't actually met in BBC Sherlock. This storyline is going to end soon, with the deaths of Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, and possibly Irene Adler. It's tragic, I know, but I enjoy abusing my characters. We all know this about me, right? Well, there's the brief background of this plotline. And, of course, you need to actually know who Anastasia is. Anastasia Moran is the conceived child of Irene Adler and Sebastian Moran. Irene gave her up for an exchange program set up by Mycroft for her to live with the Stevenson family in Boston. I hope you enjoy this~**_

_ "Too-ra-loo-la-loo-ral..." _Anastasia Stevenson sang quietly under her breath. Her parents had no clue where she had picked up that little melody. It was an Irish lullaby, but that was all she knew about it. It was her sixteenth birthday, and she was setting up the party decorations for her Sweet Sixteen. Fifteen years ago today, it was, that her biological parents died. Or, at least, the people who she liked to think of as her biological parents. A wonderful story they had, really. Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes. She had done her research on them. Sherlock Holmes had been a detective – the world's only _Consulting _Detective. He had been called the brightest man in the world when he was alive, and there was all the evidence there to support that. Irene Adler had been a Dominatrix. It had taken some research to come across exactly _what _a Dominatrix was, but she had. Boy, she had. She was slightly shocked.

Her actual biological, Sebastian Moran, had worked alongside another of the most brilliant minds in the world – Jim Moriarty. Jim Moriarty, directly in response to Sherlock's "Consulting Detective," was the _Consulting Criminal, _as he liked to be called. Disgusting, really. It truly was. He was the reason why her parents were dead. The reason why her mother had given her up in the first place. He was dead now too, though. He had been caught and executed.

Fifteen years ago today. On her birthday. Sherlock Holmes, Irene Adler, and John Watson. They were all found dead in the same place. All in the middle of an empty field. She had found the case file, and it was truly revolting. From her research, she had found that Jim Moriarty didn't typically like bloody, gruesome murders. He liked a quick shot to the head and that was it. It was done. This was different, though. There Sherlock Holmes rested, his throat slashed in one clean, precise movement. There were gunshot wounds all across his chest – he wasn't wearing a shirt – and into his stomach two words were carved. _I win. _Irene Adler was places in much of the same fashion, but Sherlock's arm was wrapped around her dead body. Irene was absolutely naked – probably raped before death – and on her side next to Sherlock. Into her side, the word _whore _had been carved.

The worse, though, was John Watson's death. John was laid at their feet, his head nearly completely removed from his body and also completely naked. It was a repulsive sight, but Anastasia had forced herself to watch. John was sprawled out like a tiger mat on his stomach. Into his back, _Choose your friends wisely, Dr. Watson. Love, Jim. _She had burst into tears just thinking about it. _Disgusting, _she thought to herself. _The evil man played with them like they were his own life-sized dolls or puppets after he killed them._

It was done, though. What was done had been done and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent it. If it hadn't happened, she wouldn't be where she was today. In fact, if her mother hadn't given her up when she had Anastasia herself would probably be in the picture with her mother, also dead. She shuddered just thinking about it and went back outside to finish setting up the party decorations.

There was a ring at the door some hours later. _The first of the party guests! _Anastasia rushed to the door and threw it open, prepared to throw her arms around her friend and plant a kiss on their cheek. However...it wasn't any of her friends. She had no idea _who _this man was, standing in front of her. He was an older man. Must be about the same age as her parents would be if they were with her today. He was tall and lean, greying-blond hair atop his head and growing from his chin wisps.

"Well come on then, darling, let me in." A smirk played at the man's features. He spoke with a thick accent from somewhere in Europe, and reached to push the door open.

"Mom?" Ana called, unsure as to whether or not she should let this man in. "There's someone at the door for-" But she was cut off. The man pressed a damp pad – it looked somewhat like a tissue – to her face and caught her from behind as she fell. Sebastian Moran chuckled darkly and threw her – his daughter – over his shoulder, carrying her out to the car quickly before anyone could see what was happening.

Anastasia woke up some time later, her wrists and feet, along with a rope around her shoulders, tied to a chair. She struggled for a moment, trying to spit out the wad of fabric that had been shoved in her mouth, but to no avail. She was trapped in a dark room. She blinked rapidly, trying to figure out where she was, but couldn't make out anything. It was pitch black and there was nothing she could do about it.

After what felt like an hour of Ana sitting there making pitiful noises and sounding like a kicked puppy, a light came on. She cringed and whimpered. The door opened, and suddenly that chair was all that was protecting her. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that all of her clothes except for her underwear and her bra had been removed, and that she had rope burn around her wrists. She started humming the only thing that could ever help her calm down, going over the lyrics in her head. _"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry! Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby."_ The man appeared from the door. The one from before.

He walked up and snatched the rag from her mouth, tearing her gums in the process. She winced, but didn't utter a sound.

"Who the _fuck _are you?" she spat, directly up into the man's face. He gave a careless little chuckle in reply.

"It will come to you."

He was Sebastian Moran. The death of his best mate – and lover – had pushed him over the edge. For years he had flown under the radar, but this is where he's resurfacing. This, with the death of his only daughter. The death of his spawn, that was originally bred to become the next enemy of the late Sherlock Holmes. This. The day of her birth. The day of her mother's death. This was the price it would take for him to get back to normal. This is how he would end all of his pain.

He reached forward before she could get out another word and smacked her across the face with the back of his hand, forgetting about the ring on his finger. It caught on her cheek. It left a cut. He laughed. Oh, did he laugh. The blood squeezed out of the cut and rolled down her cheek, but she didn't cry. _Tough girl. _He wouldn't give up, though. He wouldn't give in and kill her until she cried. He drew back and slapped her again, across the other cheek. Blood. Laughs. Sweat. Tears? No. He leaned down and met her eye-to-eye.

"Do you know who I am, girl?" he hissed, the thick scent of alcohol on his breath. Anastasia opened her mouth, seeming like she was going to reply. Instead of forming words, though, she spit. The barely sixteen-year-old girl spat in the face of her kidnapper. Her head, of course, was thrown back yet again with another _smack _and cackle. He leaned up and wiped the blood off his ring, turning his back to her. "The name is Sebastian Moran." He turned and grinned at her eerily. "I'm your father. Your _real _father. Not that half-witted arse that you like to think is."


	2. The Great Revelation

_**~~Anastasia~~**_

She had blacked out. How had she let herself black out? She had been raised as a fighter, prepared to jump on anything that moved. That's the way her father – the one who adopted her – and her brother had raised her.

When she woke up again, she was alone. She was in a new room. Her ankles and wrists were still tied to the chair, but they weren't as tight this time. She thought she could get away if she tried hard enough. Once she got out of the chair, though, she wasn't sure where she'd go. The entire room, from what she could see in the dim light of the one candle that was in the corner, was coated in a metal sheet. That included the door.

Anastasia made sure to keep quiet. If she was too loud, she was sure that man – Sebastian, he had called himself – would be back. And this time he might do more than just slap her across the face. She slipped her tongue out of her mouth and licked the corner of it. _Blood. _Just as she'd thought. Her face hadn't been washed. Why would he wash her face, though? Why would he care? _Why doesn't he care?_ She groaned softly. She just wanted all of this to end. She wanted to be back home with her mom and her brother and her dad. At this rate she'd never even _see _them again. She didn't want to die. She wasn't ready to die.

No. She wasn't ready to die, and that meant only one thing. That meant that she had to find a way out. The petite, teenaged girl writhed and squirmed against the binds that were holding her wrists. After what felt like hours of struggling and burning her wrists with the rope, or what ever it was, she finally managed to squirm free. She brought her arms around to her front, her shoulders giving a relieved _Pop! _at the new relaxation. That is, if you could call it relaxing. She then got to work on the binds around her ankles, holding her legs to the legs of the chair. It was the same chair as the one that she had been in when she had woken up before. Had he transported her _on_ it? Was that even safe? _No, of course it wasn't safe. He doesn't care about my safety. _

When Ana was completely untied from the chair, the stood up to test her legs. After the first step, though, she fell. She landed on the floor in a crumpled up heap, letting out a small cry of anguish. She quickly cupped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. In the tight, metal lined room, the sound – however small – bounced back an forth off the walls. Any sound that a _mouse _could make could go on for ages. There was a rustling outside the door, and she could hear a few angry voices shouting. Before anyone could open the door, though, she made up her mind. She knew what card she was going to play. She was going to play it cool. To act like she didn't really care. She lifted herself gingerly back into the chair, crossing her legs and folding her hands neatly in her lap. With the way she was sitting, the blood on her cheeks and lips looked rather out of place. So did the state of her hair, for that matter. She then heard a crank being turned, and the door slowly opened.

The man stood before her with a cool sort of poise. It went on for what seemed like hours, but was only minutes. The two Morans stared each other down for ages. Anastasia Stevenson's – Or Moran's – eyes were cold and hard, just as her so-called father's were. They were laced with steel, staring evenly back at the man who just revealed himself to her as her father. They stared at each other silently. Evenly. Both of them were daring the other to make the first move. It was obvious from the way the young girl was sitting that she had gotten herself out, and there was no sort of weapon on her body. There was nothing she could use in the room unless, by chance, she got either the bejeweled cane that the man was holding away from him, or she could get his gun out of its holster. Both of these options seemed unlikely, though. Finally, Sebastian spoke up.

"You are good." Anastasia couldn't tell if he was being serious, or just the sarcastic bastard that she had come to know him as. Deciding on the latter, she made her choice as to how to react. She pressed her lips together tightly, as if pursing them, continuing to stare at him.

"My _father _taught me." That being said, Moran let out a howl of laughter.

"Only in your dreams, love. Forgive me for saying this, but–" He began to swagger over to her. " –I _am_ your father, love. You came from _me._" He let out another howl of laughter, then leaned down against the armrests of her chair. "Give Daddy dearest a kiss on the cheek, why don't you?" When Ana didn't react, he laughed again, this time in her face. The stale smell of bad alcohol was still on his breath, and he left a stickily wet kiss on her face.

"You're drunk." she spat, venom lacing her words and facial expression. It would have killed the man, had that been possible.

"Good observation, love." More laughter. "You know what's great about my life?" He took a step back and turned his back to her. When he didn't get a response – Ana just sat there glaring at him – he continued on. "Nothing. Absolutely _nothing._" He grinned a toothy grin at her and sunk down against the wall, sitting on the floor and watching her. "I didn't want to be a father when you were conceived. I was told that I had to keep you, though, by the supposed "love of my life." James Moriarty. Recognize that name?" A short laugh. "Bingo. The sick, twisted man who killed your mother, her husband, and his best friend. The Cat, the Mouse, and the Army Doctor." Moran let out a wheezing cough. _He's sick, _Anastasia thought to herself. _Dying. _

With that, Ana stood on shaky legs. She half-walked, half-stumbled over to him and bent down next to him on her knees.

"Had a change of heart?" He chuckled with a raspy voice. "Well, that's not my cup of tea, doll."

Ana sat there watching him for a minute, running a hand over his face. Then, as though she had been taught by this man her entire life, she drew back and slapped him across it. He let out another sharp laugh. "Just like your mother."


	3. The Horrific Realization

_**~~Anastasia~~**_

__They were on a plane. She was awake this time, however her wrists were bound behind her back again. She had taken that willingly, though. It had been two weeks since their little encounter in the jail cell that closely resembled those that had become her home in the past few months. Moran had started opening up to her. She had found out from the unaware, drunk man that he was dying of lung cancer right now. "Had one too many smokes when I was your age," he had laughed in his far too familiar raspy tone of voice. He was starting to trust her. Acting more civil, showing some form of politeness. That didn't change the way he looked at her, though. The way his eyes undressed her when he thought she wasn't paying any attention. She was always paying attention, though. That, she had trained her mind to do. What most people would ignore as a minor, meager glance, dispelling it from their minds, Anastasia Stevenson – Moran – would pick up on and tuck back in her mind for a later date.

It also didn't change the way he hit her. Her face and arms were bruised and cut from the impacts from the man's rings and the collisions that his fists had with her face. She had grown to ignore those, though. It didn't take much. She had grown up firing rifles and shotguns that belonged to her "grandfather."

_ "She must never know, Sherlock." Irene Adler's hushed tones rang throughout the stairwell of 221b Baker Street. "Her father is a dirty, disgusting man. She can never find out who he is. Who he was. Who he so aspired to be."_

_ "Irene, we can't keep it from her forever. She'll find out some day on her own, even if we don't tell her." Sherlock sighed softly, wrapping his arms around his wife. It was hard for her, he knew, but she had to be told this. "When she's old enough, we have to sit the child down and tell her of her past. We have to warn her of the dangers of her father and his lover." He grimaced at the mention of James Moriarty, as did Irene. _

_ Just then, though, there was a noise. A gunshot. The bullet shot though the glass of the window, and Sherlock barely pulled Irene down to the floor in time to keep them both out of harm. She looked to her husband, eyes full of panic. "They're here. Sherlock, dear god, they're **here.**" _

_ "Go. Run. Get the children and go out the back. Get out of here, Irene, and run as fast as you can. Get them away."_

_ "Oh, Sherlie~!" The shrill voice of James Moriarty rang throughout the entire flat from the point where he was standing in the doorway. "I have a little surprise for you." Sherlock shoved Irene the rest of the way up the stairs and glanced up into the camera in the corner, alerting Mycroft of what was going on by a simple hand signal they had worked out. To anyone else, it would look like a twitch. Mycroft got the point, though, and was in a heli on his way to the flat within moments. First and foremost,he got the kids away. He sent them all in separate directions, Anastasia Moran going to America to become Anastasia Stevenson, Molly Catherine Holmes going to Spain to become Katrina Venderez, and John Emery Holmes going to France to become Jean Rousse. _

_ In the camera that was positioned in the stairwell, there was movement. Jim had Irene pinned to the wall, a knife at her throat. Sherlock had been bound to a chair at the top of the stairs and shot once in each knee, forced to watch the defiling of his wife. There was the sound of screaming. Bloodcurdling cries, all coming from one Irene Adler. _

"TURN IT OFF." Anastasia was crying. Sobbing. This was the last bit of footage that was ever shot of her parents. Her body wracked with shudders, the images of her mother and father being tortured still haunting her mind.

A dark chuckle was let out. "Had enough, girl?" He was drunk again. Not only was he drunk, he was rightly pissed. He leaned down in front of her in the hotel room, right up in her face again. He reeked of cigarettes and bad liquor. She then proceeded to spit in his face once again, only earning a laugh and a smack across the face. Quick, hard. Another bruise begins to form and the blood trickles down. The tears were still streaming down her cheeks at this point, mixing with the blood and sweat. The evil, twisted bastard finally turned off the video, leaving Ana to the horror that was her mind. At that, he left another sloppy kiss on her forehead, cackling and exiting the hotel room into the adjoined one to the side. Ana was left slumped in the chair, looking much like Sherlock Holmes had in the footage after watching his wife be defiled then taken from him right before his eyes. The only thing that kept him going until Moriarty came back for him to kill him was the fact that his children were safe and out of harms way. Oh, how the great mind of the all-knowing Sherlock Holmes had been wrong.

_**A/N: Wow, okay. This story is getting a lot more hits than I had ever expected it to. This is such a strange circumstance of a fic. It's entirely more AU than anything else I would ever write. In fact, if it weren't for the rp I probably wouldn't have written something like this at *all*. Thank you for sticking with me, guys. I know I haven't really been posting on a strict schedule, but if you guys will put up with me for a bit longer I'll be finished.**_

_**Feel free to leave me a review down just below here. If you've read this far, you must be pretty loyal. The little review button is right there! Just send me a shout-out and I may feature you in my next Author's Note! You guys are what's keeping this story alive. If it weren't for you, I would've abandoned this ages ago! Love you all! Don't forget. RnR. **_


	4. Too Early for Death

Two weeks later, Anastasia woke up again. This time, however, things were different. There were no bindings around her wrists and ankles. There was no cloth tied over her mouth. She was simply asleep in a bed.

Upon the realization that she was in a bed, the teenage girl bolted upright. Blinking through the darkness, she tried desperately to figure out where she was. She definitely didn't know where she was. This wasn't a bed she had slept in before. She was in the bed alone, but that didn't really mean anything. Just because she was alone on that specific item of furniture didn't mean that she was alone in the room.

After further inspection of her surroundings, she came to the realization that she was in a hotel room. It was much like the room that she had been in the last time they had stopped, but again, this time she was free. That was the major difference. Against her better judgement, she stood up. Rushing around the bed, she scooped up what little belongings she had acquired in the past few weeks. Weeks? Month? How long had she been gone? When you live in darkness, you pretty much lose all sense of time whatsoever. Stumbling toward the door, she felt for the handle. She could almost make it out in the small sliver of light that weaved its way under the crack in the door. There was a chance that as soon as she stepped out the door an alarm would go off, or a camera would be triggered. Worse still, there was the chance that there was someone physically guarding her door. If they were in a public hotel, however, they wouldn't be able to do that as easily.

Pulling open the door, she stood there blinking in the light for a moment. It had been a few _weeks _since she'd been a building lit as well as this. She hadn't seen the light of day in a few days, even. At least, that's what she thought. Wrapping her arms around herself tightly, she ran in the direction that she thought an lift should be. Bumping into only one person on the way, she managed to make it. Hitting the button, she was carried down to the bottom floor. Her chest heaved all the way there.

She had lost weight in the time that she had been gone. A lot of weight. She looked down at herself, taking in the state of her outfit. A worn, baggy old t-shirt of Sebastian's, and pants that looked much the same. The scariest part of that, though, is that she didn't remember putting them on.

When she stepped out of the lift, she looked around to make sure everything was okay. The coast was clear, so she started on her way. Deducing quickly by the signs that she was somewhere in Germany, she made a break for the door.

Anastasia stumbled wildly for the door. It had definitely been longer than she'd realized. How long had she been asleep for? Had he knocked her out again? This wasn't good. She could be too late, for all she knew. She could be on the brink of starvation. At the thought of hunger, her stomach groaned in need. She was hungry. Hungry, and worn totally out. She felt the worn, tired feeling in her gut. She knew what had happened, and it wasn't good. She would have to get tested now. She was only 16 – at least, she _thought _she was – she couldn't afford to have a child right now. How had this happened? Why her? She had such a normal life. She was just a normal girl with a normal life and a normal family. She had normal brothers and normal parents. This wasn't for her. There had to be a mistake.

There hadn't been, though. When she finally reached the door, only stumbling a few times, she shoved it open and ran out into the sunlight. Blinking in the blinding, white light, she hit her knees on the ground. She had been pushed. Her hair being yanked back, she stared up into the eyes of her captor. Moran himself. Bad bad bad. This was bad. This was very, incredibly bad. Now she would never be able to go home. She would never be set free. Bad bad bad.

That night, they were put on a train. Not a particularly nice train. In fact, it closely resembled a freight train. She wouldn't have doubted the fact that it _was_. In that instant, the single flash-light they had on in the car was shut off and she heard voices. Voices of men, some in languages she understood and some not. Over all of it, though, she heard Sebastian. "Knock her out," he had said. "take care of her." They weren't going to kill her, were they? ...no. They wouldn't do that. They needed her. She was insurance. Insurance that they could get exactly what they wanted. Squeezing her eyes shut, she listened carefully. She could hear the feet approaching. Someone was coming, and fast. She tried to scramble back against the wall, but it was impossible – she was already far as she could go. In the next instant, a hard object came into connection with the back of her head. Not what she was expecting. She had been expecting it to come from the front. Lurching forward, the loud voices and darkness faded. Colours exploded in front of her tightly closed eyes, and there was a ringing in her ears. It wasn't long before everything finally blacked out and went silent. She was bleeding again, but that wasn't to be known to her. She was out cold, and there was nothing anyone could do to wake her up. It was too late. Too late for her. Too late for life, yet too early for death. Her life was slowly slipping from the wound in her head. Had anyone turned on the real lights, they would have known. They would have seen the pool of blood that she was lying in. They would notice the fact that her skin was greying. She was losing her complexion. Dying. The blood-loss was killing her slowly. At this rate, she would be dead by the time they reached Berlin. Dead, even before the hour.

_**A/N: Wow, okay. This has grown a mind of its own. I would have never dreamt that I would be able to write a story this long. The only time other than this that I've even attempted to write a long-winded story would be with my NaNoWriMo, but that's crap! Okay, I don't really know what I'm doing here, so I'll just apologize again. I'm terribly sorry for the manner in which I update. I'm incredibly slow. If I could get my will up to post things on a regular schedule, I promise I would. However, it is going to become increasingly hard to post. I've just recently started back to school, and that is hindering my ability to work on things of my own. **_

_**If any of you would like to reach me personally, I have a Kik. That is ThatHolmesKid. (At least I'm pretty sure it is. I'm at school while I'm writing this, so I can't really check.) Thank you for staying here with me for so long, and putting up with the few posts that I make. **_

_**Please remember to leave me a review, telling me what you like about the story. What you like, what you dislike. I am also in dire need of a Beta. If any of you have any experience in betaing stories at all, please contact me at my Kik, which I mentioned above, or email me at LipsandHipsandHitmen . Thank you so much! I love you all! :) **_**3**


	5. The Turnaround

It was the middle of the night. Or, at least, she **thought **it was the middle of the night. It had been two weeks since Anastasia had tried to run away. They were no longer in a hotel. Anastasia was in a chamber. She was no longer trusted. She could no longer be trusted. Not since she had tried to run. Not since the world had seen her. Or at least a small portion of surprised hotel guests. They caught a glimpse of what was really going on in the world. What was really happening around them. This was the real world. The hidden world. If you were to compare the building that they were located in at this precise moment, it would be best compared to a castle. Hell, for all she knew it was a castle. And this was the dungeon. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think of something happy. Trying to dream of something good in her life aside from everything that had happened to her in the last year.

She couldn't, though. She would never be able to dream happily again. It wasn't possible. If she made it out of this alive, she would be scarred for life. She would never be able to live properly again. She would never be able to love anyone the right way.

She was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of the door of the chamber she was being held captive in being opened. The lights were flipped on, and she groaned. She would cover her eyes, but her hands seemed to be bound again. In fact, she was bound to the wall. The man standing in front of her was none other than Sebastian Moran. She cowered away from him, clinging toward the wall. This was the effect he had on her now. In the beginning, she hadn't been nearly as scared as she was now. She had been sedated for what could possibly be weeks now. Since she had tried to run. When she moved, though, she let out a scream. A scream that only matched one – the one she had heard on the video. The scream of her true mother. It was a cry of agony. One of anguish. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. "P-please.." For the first time, she found herself begging. She cried, but more importantly, she **begged**.

"Mmmhmm." Moran laughed at her, kneeling down in front of the poor girl. "Don't be a dumb bitch. I have men that want you, and begging isn't attractive." He ran his thumb across her cheek, and she shied away from him. Her face was sticky with tears and sweat, and dirty. The thumb left a trail in the dirt and grime. "You need a bath, young lady." His tone was sarcastic and mocking, but she flocked to it. It was the most human – the most fatherly – thing she had heard anyone say in months.

"P-please." She curled forward to him, her expression softening slightly. She was destroyed. This was no longer the Anastasia that had been taken all those months ago. This was no longer Anastasia Stevenson. This girl was fully Anastasia Moran in every way. She belonged to Sebastian, and she acknowledged that. She just needed a bit of sympathy right now.

Moran laughed at her desperation, rolling his eyes. "Alright. Fine. Once." He grinned, pulling a key out of his pocket. "On one condition." Her eyes snapped up to his, fear showing in them. "You have to be watched the entire time. We wouldn't want another episode like the last time you were alone." He smirked sardonically, his eyes holding a sick, twisted enjoyment.

"A-alright. Fine." Her breath caught in her throat. This was the first bath she could remember having in...ages. She would finally be able to be clean.

She was unchained and led down a corridor. She tried to look around as much as possible, but she was too tired to take anything in. When she got to the loo, she was given the opportunity to undress alone. She stared at herself in the mirror, taking a large, shuddering breath. She was dirty. Dirty all over. Her hair was ratty and too long. It was long and brown and thick. Her parents had always kept it cut at about her shoulders so it wouldn't get this way. She saw why now.

Pulling off the oversized shirt, she turned on the water. Obviously this building had been at least renovated for use recently – the taps were new. Drawing the curtain back, she slid down into the tub. The water steamed up around her. It felt wonderful on her skin and bones. She pulled the curtain back around her. A moment later, someone entered and sat down in a chair by the door. 'He's..giving me privacy.' Her mind was racing. She didn't quite know what to think. This was the most freedom she had gotten in a long time.

Deciding not to press her luck, she began washing off. She found the soap and a wash cloth easily, and began scrubbing her body from head to toe. By the time she was finished, she was red all over. She didn't care, though. She was clean. Now she just had her hair to deal with.

Peeking out of the tub, she found a drawer. Rummaging around in it for a moment, she found what she was looking for. Good. She'd use this when she got out. For now, though, she sunk down into the water and just soaked there for a little while.

Standing up behind the curtain, she pulled the plug in the bath. The dirty water dissipated beneath her, and she grabbed the towel she had laid out. It would seem that the guard had fallen asleep. Good. She would get away with this. Best behaviour. Wrapping the towel around herself tightly, the took the item she had chosen from the drawer and moved to the mirror. Very carefully, she lifted the small scissors and started cutting her hair. She trimmed it into what would seem to be a pixie cut. She did well, if she didn't say so herself. She looked like a completely different person, though. She wasn't quite sure what Sebastian – her father – would do to her for this. She could simply blame it on a brush getting stuck in her hair. The guard had been asleep, so he wouldn't be able to tell if she was telling the truth or not.

Pulling the towel around herself a bit tighter, she stepped over to the guard and coughed softly. He jumped, waking with a start. He was young. Only a few years older than her, she'd guess. He led her to a different room, where a change of clothes was waiting for her. _Real _clothes. Clothes that would fit her. The boy (his name was Kane) left her without a word after his introduction, and she was alone once again. Something was different right now. Moving over to the bed, she picked up the bra that was laying there for her. Fastening it carefully around herself, she studied herself in the mirror. She was actually starting to look like a human being again. She pulled on the rest of the clothes and moved over to a small vanity. There laid a brush, and a make up kit. She brushed out her new hair style, smiling gently at herself. She was smiling. _Actually _smiling. She hadn't smiled over something in months. She did her hair and make up until she was finally satisfied with the way she looked.

Standing up, she gave herself one last glance in the mirror. She looked good. She looked like she should. She looked like a normal teenage girl. It was nice to see herself looking this way again.

Aware of how tired she was, she sat down on the bed. It was comfortable. She laid back, pulling up a blanket around herself. She would just lay here and rest her eyes for a little while...

She awoke to a knock at her door. How long had she been asleep? A glance to the window showed that it was now dark outside. Surely it had been light when she had laid down. "Come in." Her voice was normal again. Well—as normal as it could possibly be. It was still a bit raspy, but she sounded like herself.

When the door opened, a beautiful woman walked in. She cocked her head to the side slightly, examining Ana with a soft smile on her lips. "You're so beautiful."


End file.
